World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The British optical rangefinders were almost ineffective at this distance—the target was too small, and sea fog interfered with accurate ranging. But the Bismarck-class radar could. It could clearly tell the gunners: the target was there, 22,000 meters away, heading 120, speed 22 knots.

Then the shells will fall.

11:53 AM.

First volley.

Eight 380mm shells whistled out of the cannon and flew toward the British fleet 22,000 meters away.

Forty seconds later, the observer's voice came through the loudspeaker: "Hit! The Barham has been hit! Location—aft deck!"

Scher's eyes lit up.

The first volley hit its target.

This is the power of radar enhancement.

"Continue," he said. "Second round, let go."

Eight more shells were fired.

Forty seconds later, the observer's voice rang out again: "Hit! The Barham has been hit again! This time near the bridge! Thick smoke is rising!"

Scheer put down his binoculars.

He watched the burning British warship, watched it slowly break away from formation, watched its speed drop from twenty-two knots to eighteen, fifteen knots—

"The third round," he said, "target switch—Warrior."

Jericho was giving orders to adjust the formation when he heard the voice.

That was the shriek of a shell tearing through the air. He was all too familiar with that sound—he'd heard it countless times in his thirty years in the military. But this time was different.

The shriek came from the southwest.

From that sea area he thought was empty and desolate.

In that instant, countless thoughts flashed through his mind: Impossible. They couldn't be this fast. One hundred and twenty nautical miles, a four-hour journey, and only two hours and forty minutes have passed—

But the shrieking sound grew closer.

Then it exploded.

The aft deck of the Barham was engulfed by a fireball.

Jellicoe rushed to the starboard porthole. He saw the stern of the Barham ablaze, thick smoke billowing up and obscuring half the sky. The warship, already engulfed in flames, now resembled an erupting volcano.

"General!" The chief of staff's voice came from behind, his tone distorted. "Southwest! Two—two Bismarck-class destroyers!"

Jellicoe raised his binoculars.

In the shot, the silhouettes of two warships slowly rise from the sea. Long, slender hulls. Towering bridges. And those iconic twin 380mm gun turrets—

The Bismarck. The Tirpitz.

They are coming.

Jericho's hand froze on the telescope.

He miscalculated.

He miscalculated their speed. He miscalculated their determination. He miscalculated everything.

"All fleet!" he roared, his voice hoarse and distorted. "Turn to 220! Speed ​​24 knots! Close the distance—only by closing the distance can we retaliate!"

HMS Queen Elizabeth was making a wild turn on the sea. HMS Warspite followed closely behind. HMS Malaya was also turning.

But the Barham and Warrior could no longer turn.

The second salvo landed. The Barham was hit again—this time the bridge. The explosion engulfed the entire bridge, the mast snapped, and the flag fell.

Jericho stared at the fallen flag, his heart clenching as if gripped by an invisible hand.

Those were his comrades-in-arms. Those were his fellow soldiers of thirty years.

"General!" the lookout's voice came from overhead. "The German fleet's distance! They're... 22,000 meters! Maintaining distance!"

22,000 meters.

Jericho's brain was working at lightning speed.

Twenty-two thousand meters was the optimal firing range for the Bismarck-class ships. At this distance, their 380mm guns could easily penetrate the horizontal armor of the Queen Elizabeth-class ships—the shells would fall from above, penetrate the deck, and explode inside the hull.

The Queen Elizabeth-class's 381mm guns were almost ineffective against the Bismarck-class's main armor belt at this distance—the shells had too high an angle of incidence and insufficient kinetic energy; even if they hit directly, they would only create a shallow crater.

This is the gap.

Bismarck-class battleships can hit them, but they can't hit Bismarck-class battleships. Even if they could, they wouldn't be able to break through Bismarck's defenses!

"Keep getting closer!" Jericho roared. "Twenty-four knots! Full speed! Only when we're close can we—"

Before he could finish speaking, the third salvo came down.

This time it's the Warrior.

The warship, already damaged, was hit simultaneously by three 380mm shells. One hit the bow, one the bridge, and one near the waterline.

The Warrior shook violently and then began to tilt.

Jericho watched helplessly as it tilted to the right—ten degrees, fifteen degrees, twenty degrees—

"Abandon ship!" he roared. "Warrior, abandon ship!"

But it was too late.

The Warrior tilted faster and faster. Crew members slid off the deck and fell into the icy water. The life rafts couldn't be lowered in time and capsized with the ship.

12:07.

The Warrior capsized.

Its hull was upside down, revealing a hull covered in barnacles and a still-spinning propeller. It remained upside down on the sea for about three minutes before slowly sinking.

Jericho watched the ship disappear into the sea, his eyes reddening.

Another one.

Another one.

"General!" The chief of staff rushed over, pointing at the radar screen, "The German fleet is still approaching! 20,000 meters away! Entering 19,000 meters!"

Nineteen thousand meters.

closer.

But Jellicoe knew that at this distance, their 381mm guns were still insufficient to effectively threaten the Bismarck-class's main armor belt. The Bismarck-class's 380mm guns, on the other hand, could fire more accurately at this range.

"Keep going!" he said. "Eighteen thousand meters! Once we reach eighteen thousand meters, we'll be able to—"

The fourth salvo came down.

This time it's the Barham.

The warship, which had been burning for ten minutes, finally gave way. Another shell struck near the waterline, tearing a huge breach. Seawater rushed in, and the Barham's speed dropped from fifteen knots to ten, then five—

Then it stopped.

It lay still on the sea, like a dying beast, letting the shells continue to fall.

Round 5. Round 6. Round 7.

12:19.

The Barham suffered a violent explosion—the ammunition magazine was detonated. Flames erupted from inside the ship, engulfing the entire vessel in a massive fireball. Masts snapped, turrets were blown off, and the ship broke in two during the explosion.

The two sections of the wreckage sank to the bottom of the sea.

Jericho closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, there were no more tears in them.

Only fire.

A burning fire.

Scheer stood at the porthole, looking at the spot where the two British warships had sunk.

USS Barham. USS Warrior.

Two ships.

Three ships remain.

"Ammunition report," he said.

The quartermaster opened his logbook: "General, the Bismarck has used 120 armor-piercing shells. 517 rounds remain."

Five hundred and seventeen shots.

That's enough for four more rounds of roll call.

"What is the Tirpitz's ammunition status?"

"They also used up about one hundred rounds. They have about five hundred and eighty rounds left."

Scher nodded.

There are still over a thousand rounds left. That's enough.

"Target change," he said. "Next ship—the Malaya."

The main guns of the Bismarck and Tirpitz turned simultaneously.